


Gordian Knots

by foolishgames



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishgames/pseuds/foolishgames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy loves hotel nights. Adam loves free champagne. And then, um, sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gordian Knots

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on livejournal September 2010

It’s a hotel night. Tommy loves hotel nights. He dives headfirst onto the big, soft bed and rolls around, unpacks all his crap and spreads it all over the room, goes into the bathroom and has a thirty-minute shower, scrubs dry and comes back out to flop naked onto the bed. He dials up the hotel’s pay-per-view menu and scrolls until he finds porn that doesn’t look too terrible, jerks off lazily, taking his time and being loud about it, just because he can.

He’s coming down from the afterglow, laughing a little and considering another shower, when his phone buzzes. He wipes his hands off and reads the text from Adam: Complimentary champagne – I love hotel nights!

That’s an invitation if Tommy’s ever heard one, so he cleans up quickly, puts some shorts on, and heads on down the hall to Adam’s room.

Adam laughs when he answers the door. “You don’t even like champagne.”

“Jeez, you puke it all up one time and suddenly it’s a rule?” Tommy shoulders past him. “Gimme, I love champagne. Especially free champagne.”

Adam’s suite is approximately four times the size of Tommy’s room, and way nicer. There’s a plush couch and a kitchenette with a little dining table. Adam’s bed is so huge they must have to get special sheets; when Tommy bounces on it, it feels like total heaven.

“Hedonist,” says Adam, who has followed him. He’s smiling fondly, though, so Tommy kicks off his flip-flops and grins back, feeling lazy and awesome. Adam grabs the champagne bottle from the ice bucket by the bed and starts fussing with cork, crawling up onto the bed beside Tommy. “Wonder what’s on TV?”

“They have a great porn selection,” Tommy offers, and Adam barks out this little surprised laugh.

“We’ve only been here an hour and a half, Tommy Joe. You’re such a boy.”

Tommy leers a little, tongue between his teeth, and rocks his hips up off the bed. “You know it.”

Adam knees him in the shoulder, gently, and hands him a glass of champagne. “Cut that out, you know I’m off straight boys.”

Tommy giggles. “Oh my god, you’re so dumb.”

“Oh my god, what,” says Adam. He puts his glass down on the nightstand and starts rearranging all the pillows into a big heap, stealing the one from under Tommy’s head. 

Tommy wriggles upright, and when Adam turns to retrieve his drink, Tommy ninjas over and flops down on the pillow pile, spilling champagne down his own arm.

“Mother fucker,” says Adam. “You little shit.” But he’s laughing, so Tommy busies himself with licking alcohol off his hand and arm before it gets all over the bed and Adam has to sleep on a drunk-smelling bed.

Adam pokes him, and Tommy obligingly lifts his arm so Adam can lie down, at right-angles from Tommy with his head on Tommy’s ribs. It’s a good angle; they can both drink their champagne, and Tommy can play with Adam’s hair, which is probably what he’s going for, because Adam loves having his hair played with.

Adam’s showered too, so his hair is soft and clean, and Tommy sips at his champagne and scratches Adam’s scalp in circles while Adam makes soft contented little noises. Where he shaved it off it’s rough and bristly, and Tommy drags his fingertips over it, liking the texture, and then the smooth skin of Adam’s temple, the arch of his eyebrow. Adam’s gone still, so Tommy takes another mouthful of champagne and explores further, blindly: the slope of Adam’s forehead, the strong line of his nose. The skin on his cheeks is a little dimpled, the scarring Adam’s so shy about, but there’s the scrape of stubble too, and Tommy chases it down to his jawline, the slight softness under his chin. Adam’s lips are very soft when drags his fingertips over them, a little pursed, maybe, so he does it again, and Adam sighs.

“Tommy,” he says, and the mm buzzes against Tommy’s fingers, catching them between Adam’s lips.

“Mm?” His glass is empty; he reaches over and sets it on the nightstand, too content to be bothered getting up for more.

“How come you couldn’t have been gay? That’s not fair. You’re awesome, but you like girls.”

Tommy cracks up, the way he’s started to do every time Adam starts this shit. Adam had hit on him fairly hard when they’d first met, but Tommy had a girlfriend at the time, and Adam had backed right the fuck off when he found out, looking chagrined. Around New Years, he’d started talking loudly about how awesome it that they were such good friends, and wasn’t it great that there was no pressure or expectations, how wonderful it was that there were straight guys so comfortable expressing affection toward their big gay boss. But since the start of the tour he’s been wistful, like Tommy is some untouchable prize Adam has to hold himself back from sullying, and he’s taken to making vaguely longing remarks and stroking Tommy’s hair with a martyred expression, which is totally hilarious.

“You’re so dumb, Lambert,” Tommy says, once he’s got his snorting giggle-fit out of the way. He rubs Adam’s mouth with his fingers again, fondly.

“Mean,” Adam huffs, looking wounded. “I’m so glad my problem is so hilarious to you.”

“Adam, there is no problem,” says Tommy, exasperated

“Easy for you to say,” says Adam. 

Tommy stops stroking Adam’s lips. He shoves his head instead, to make him sit up, follows him up and then they’re facing one another. “Adam, we are currently – wait.” He grabs his flute, tops it up again, waggles the bottle at Adam, who shakes his head, puzzled. “Okay. Now, we are snuggling – were snuggling – in your great big comfy bed in your great big fuck-off rock star hotel room, drinking champagne. And snuggling, did I mention? After you spent half the concert singing love songs at me and licking my face. What exactly about that says straight to you? Anything?”

Adam just kind of blinks at him, looking bewildered and sad. Tommy sighs and rolls his eyes. “Seriously, you are the dumbest person on the planet.” 

He takes the time to rescue both glasses of champagne, because he doesn’t want to do this reeking of drunk, but Adam never loses the slightly hurt, confused look, so Tommy’s fairly reassured that Adam is still surprised when Tommy takes hold of his face and kisses him, as sweet and soft and inviting as he can make it. He’s kissed Adam before; drunk, sober, onstage, off. But this isn’t hello or goodbye or for show, it’s come on, keep up: an invitation and explanation all at once and Tommy takes his time and makes it count.

Once Adam gets over his shock, he immediately tries to take charge of the kiss, obviously expecting Tommy to melt into it like he usually does. But they aren’t onstage now, no show to put on, and Tommy has been so patient, and he is damned if he’s going into this thing as Adam’s bitch. He’s littler than Adam, and he knows he looks delicate and fragile, but he’s a grown man and a bassist, he’s got strength in his hands and wrists Adam can’t even imagine. Adam squawks with surprise when Tommy’s weight presses him back into the pile of pillows and Tommy’s tongue presses his mouth open, Adam all flaily like he can’t figure out how Tommy’s suddenly in control. Tommy hums happily and uses his grip on Adam’s jaw to tilt his head further back, and Adam makes a helpless noise and goes all sweet and melty, puts his hands on Tommy’s waist and lets it happen, lets Tommy lead him.

“Tommy,” he murmurs wonderingly, when Tommy pulls away, and squeaks when he darts back to nibble the freckle on Adam’s lower lip. “Tommy, but you’re straight!”

“Oh my god, you need to stop talking,” says Tommy and shoves a pillow over Adam’s face. He sits back and pulls his shirt off while Adam protests and bats the pillow aside, his indignation going all fuzzy around the edges as soon as he sees Tommy’s nipples. Tommy leans in slowly, letting Adam admire the view because he’s not stupid enough to be unaware of how much Adam appreciates his tattoos, and Adam is so distracted he nearly misses the next kiss, all at the wrong angle and sloppy. Tommy laughs, not meanly. “Come on,” he says fondly, and slides a hand into Adam’s hair. “Keep up, would you?”

Adam gives this adorable huff, like he’s offended at the implication that he’s been dragging his heels for months, and wrestles with the piles of pillows and Tommy’s weight on his chest until he’s sitting upright and holding Tommy in his lap. “You never said,” he complains, and seriously, Tommy is never, ever going to stop making fun of Adam for this.

“I have been throwing myself at you for months,” he points out. “I kiss you all the time, I get naked and crawl all over you in hot tubs, I fed you fucking strawberries, man, you remember that?”

“Oh my god, that was on purpose?” says Adam, sounding horrified. His face is bright red, and Tommy has to climb off him and curl up in a little giggling ball for a while. “I hate, you I totally fucking hate you,” Adam moans.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” says Tommy, still snorting. He rolls on his back by Adam’s hip and stretches out, head hanging off the edge of the bed, and senses more than sees Adam go all frozen and transfixed. “I’ll be nice from now on, I promise. No more kisses, or snuggling watching movies, or rubbing sunscreen all over you,” arms over his head and a little wriggle so his shorts ride down over his hips, and he can hear Adam’s breathing get heavier, “no more playing with your hair or checking your piercings for swelling,” Adam makes a strangled noise, did he really not get that thinly veiled excuse for to Tommy to play with his nipples? “And I promise I’ll never, ever, corner you after a show when you’re all worked up and ready to pop and sit on your lap and rub up against you and call you baby boy. Ever again. I’ll be good now.”

“You little shit,” says Adam, and hauls him up by the wrist. It’s kind of blisteringly hot, how easily he does it, and what the hell, Tommy’s never been averse to a bit of manhandling. “Tease,” Adam snarls, right up in his face, and that is just not fair.

“I never!” Tommy protests, and is about to explain that he’d have fucked Adam months ago if Adam hadn’t kept getting all flustered and running away every time Tommy got close. But then Adam gets a handful of Tommy’s hair and pulls his head to the side and bites, ow, but yeah, okay, and Tommy lets his brain dissolve into pretty flashing lights.

“I’m gonna have a hickey,” he says happily. “Awesome,” and Adam laughs and pushes him down onto the bed and they roll around for a while, kissing and stroking each other and Adam bites him a couple more times, and Tommy yanks at Adam’s shirt until Adam squawks indignantly and bats his hands away to strip himself.

That’s incredible, Adam’s broad chest and his amazing shoulders and all those fucking freckles spread out like a smorgasbord with the glint of his piercings like the cherry on top. Adam tosses the shirt aside and reaches for him, but Tommy smacks his hands away and dives at his nipples.

“Tommy,” Adam squeaks, and he grabs at Tommy’s hair. “Tommy, god, baby, you – holy shit.” Adam’s piercings are all new and sensitive and Tommy has to be gentle despite the urge to just get in there with his teeth, so it’s tongue and lips and a little sucking, but Adam makes helpless breathless beached-fish noises while Tommy plays, like he’s gone from messing around to right on the edge of coming in about thirty seconds flat.

Tommy’s just getting into it when Adam’s hand in his hair yanks with intent, and he detaches from Adam’s nipple with a reluctant pop. “I’m busy,” he complains, but Adam looks totally wrecked, flushed and open-mouthed and stunned, drags him up for a messy wet kiss.

“Oh my god, Tommy,” says Adam, in between licking Tommy’s tonsils and chewing on his lower lip. “God, the things I wanna do to you.”

“Yeah, you don’t actually get a say in this one,” says Tommy. “Maybe tomorrow.” And he shoves Adam flat on the bed and grabs Adam’s soft cotton sleep pants. “Up,” he says, and pulls them down Adam’s long legs, and then Adam is naked and looking completely staggered, his big gorgeous cock hard against his belly and his eyes wide and shocked.

“Fuckin’ finally,” says Tommy, and goes down without even stopping for breath. Adam yells out loud, his hands flying to Tommy’s hair, and Tommy is too busy to even stop and reprimand him. He’s sucked cock before, yeah, but Adam is kind of astonishingly well hung, and it takes Tommy a couple of tries to even get past the head, holding the rest in his hand. He gets a good rhythm going, between his mouth and his fist, doesn’t even try deep-throating because that’s going to take practice on this thing he just hasn’t got yet, and Adam is babbling nonsense over his head and petting helplessly at his face and hair and then he bucks his hips up, the way you can’t help sometimes, and Tommy gags.

He pulls off and slaps Adam’s thigh. Adam makes a shocked noise. “Cut that shit out,” says Tommy. “Jeez, you try and do something nice for a guy.” He wipes his mouth on his wrist and tucks his hair behind his ear.

“Tommy,” says Adam. “Tommy.” Tommy waits, but it seems like that’s all Adam’s got for the moment.

“I know you like people to think you’re, like, the toppiest top ever,” he says conversationally, “and maybe later we can do that. But I’m all done waiting, so we’ll do it my way until you can get your shit together, okay?” Adam just stares up at him, looking totally confused and turned on and maybe a little hurt. Tommy pokes him. “You gotta say something, dude.”

“I – okay?” says Adam, and that’s good enough for Tommy.

“Awesome. Where’s your lube?” He gets off the side of the bed, shoves his shorts down. Adam makes a choked noise as Tommy pulls open the nightstand, but all that’s in there is a Gideon Bible, which he wrinkles his nose at.

“Uh, bathroom?” says Adam, who appears to have taken some kind of head injury that causes him to phrase everything as a question. Tommy nods and ambles into the bathroom, digs through Adam’s giant bag of makeup and cosmetics and other bathroom shit until he finds a half-empty bottle of KY and a strip of condoms.  
When he comes back out, Adam is sitting up looking vaguely puzzled. 

“Look, Tommy,” he says, and Tommy takes a flying leap and tackles him to the bed. They go down in a pile of limbs, and Adam is laughing again, saying, “Jesus, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I got other plans for you,” says Tommy smugly. “You wanna arm-wrestle for top? Actually, no forget that. Lay the fuck down, man, I got all sorts of plans.”

Adam chokes out another disbelieving wheeze, but flops obediently onto his back, lets his knees falls apart, and Tommy crawls in between them, pets Adam’s big cock affectionately. Adam makes a satisfied little crooning noise, but Tommy can see the hesitance in his face, nervous maybe. “Chill,” he says, and cracks open the lube, gets a couple of fingers good and wet, reaches behind himself.

“Ohhhhh,” says Adam, this long stunned moan, like he’s the one being penetrated, but Tommy is suddenly all out breath and can’t quite find a smart-assed comeback. It never feels good at first, but it’s always fucking overwhelming, and he leans his free hand on Adam’s chest and pants through the stretch, two fingers maybe a little ambitious to start with.

Adam sits up and reaches for him, touches his face, rubs his arms, says his name, and Tommy breathes through his teeth and grits out, “Not now, Lambert.” But Adam makes this soft shushing noise and starts rubbing Tommy’s dick with his big hand, not really jerking him off, just touching him all soothing, and it feels awesome.

The breathless weird feeling passes and now it’s just the feel of something stretching him open, and Tommy goes back for more lube and adds a third finger, swearing at the sensation. Adam moans again, just watching his face, no way he can see what Tommy’s hand is doing, but he’s fucking transfixed anyway, staring right at Tommy’s eyes with his mouth open and his gaze all dark and hooded. He’s stroking his thumb across Tommy’s balls, distracting, and he’s saying something, which would probably be distracting if Tommy could hear him over his own ragged breathing and the pounding blood in his ears.

Tommy kisses him to shut him up, blurry enough that it’s more like their mouths crashing together, all teeth and intent. Adam reaches behind him, follows the line of Tommy’s arm down to where he’s opening himself up, groans helplessly when he feels it. He rubs his fingers over Tommy’s knuckles, the delicate skin stretched out and slick, mutters Tommy’s name all garbled into his mouth.

Tommy breaks away. “Make yourself useful, dude.” He grabs at the foil packet next to them on the bed and shoves it at Adam. “Come on, let’s do this thing.”

He could use some more stretching, he thinks, eying the size of Adam’s dick a little nervously, but no. Adam’s off-balance now, and Tommy likes it. If he gives Adam time to breathe Adam’s toppy Aquarius shit will come out to play and Tommy will end up on his back with his legs in the air and Adam in control, which is not the plan.

Not tonight, anyway.

Adam is staring at the condom like it’s going to bite him. Tommy has to poke him in the chest to make him move, and Adam jumps like he’s been stunned and starts fumbling frantically to tear it open and get it on. The sight of Adam “Am Sex God, Will Travel” Lambert having that sort of trouble is hilarious on one level, but Tommy figures they’ve reached the portion of the evening’s entertainment where laughter would be a bad plan. He wipes his wet hand on the sheets and takes over, pressing Adam backwards so he’s sprawled out on the pillows and Tommy can straddle him, sit on his belly.

“Tommy,” says Adam, staring up at him. His cheeks are all pink, pupils blown, and his chest is heaving. But when he reaches up, it’s to take Tommy’s face in his hands and hold him there, stare at him like Tommy is the second coming of Atheist Jesus instead of a boy about to fuck himself on Adam’s cock. 

Tommy is pinned by that gaze, feels stripped naked and marked in a way Adam has never yet managed to make him feel. He can’t breathe for a minute, staring down at Adam, and he has no idea how he’s ever going to make Adam understand, not really, not when Adam always thought everything was so complicated when it’s very simple.

“You’re so stupid,” says Tommy, but he’s not laughing this time, and he has to lean down and kiss Adam’s stupid, stupid mouth and Adam just makes this breathy, happy noise and puts his arms around Tommy to hold him. They neck like that for long minutes, Adam’s big warm hands sweeping up and down Tommy’s back, pressing and kneading, while Tommy tangles a hand – his clean one – in Adam’s hair and just hangs on for the ride.

He’s all out of words when he finally eases himself back onto Adam, bites his lip and his tongue and Adam’s shoulder and can’t find a syllable in him. Adam, on the other hand, gives a startled groan and the words come pouring out of him like water, Tommy Tommy Tommy and how pretty he looks and how good he feels and how as soon as Tommy lets him up he’s going flip them over and fuck Tommy so hard, and he’s been waiting so long for this and Tommy is amazing, Tommy is his favorite, so gorgeous, so beautiful, wants to keep him forever, just like that, Tommy, yeah…

Tommy’s thighs are burning, his chest is tight like he can’t get enough air, and he just keeps rocking back and forth on Adam’s dick like it’s not totally dismantling him, like Adam’s hands on him aren’t taking him to pieces. When he can’t stand it a moment longer he takes Adam’s wrists and pins them to the bed, grinds down a little harder just to hear Adam’s litany of all the ways Tommy is amazing stutter into incoherence.

Adam twists up against his grip, not really trying to get his hands free, just pressing against him. Tommy bites his jaw, his chin, his mouth, and Adam actually whimpers, rolls his hips up so that Tommy’s fucked a little deeper on his cock. The noise that comes out of Tommy then shocks him, this helpless moan, and he kisses Adam sloppy and wet and rides him harder.

Adam’s breathing gets erratic right around then, rough and gasping. He’s staring right at Tommy when he comes, fiercely like he’s trying to keep eye contact all the way through it, right up until it gets to be too much and his eyes squinch shut and his mouth falls open and he says “Tommy, oh god, Tommy,” like he’s fucking dying.

Tommy rubs Adam’s chest soothingly, but he can’t help pushing, rocks his hips down again, little teasing circle, and Adam gives an over-sensitive whimper and twists his wrist against Tommy’s hands, for real this time. Tommy lets him go, lifts up enough to let Adam’s softening cock slip out, leans down to kiss him.

Adam murmurs something incoherent into it, like it’s too much effort to even move. Tommy is smugly satisfied at the way he’s gone all loose and relaxed and can’t seem to form entire words, never mind sentences. He lays careful kisses over Adam’s face and Adam leans into it, pets Tommy with clumsy hands, sighs sweetly.

“Oh my god,” says Adam eventually. “Oh, check me out, I’m being rude,” and he rolls Tommy off him and presses him down into the bed, kissing his neck and then down his chest with a sudden burst of energy.

Tommy’s about to protest that he jerked off, like, an hour ago so there’s no way he’s going to come again so soon. Then his brain actually catches up with his body, and Adam’s mouth, and all that comes out is a strangled yelp. Yeah, he’s been hard since they got naked, in a non-urgent kind of way, happy to just do what feels good without any particular goal in mind. But Adam doesn’t seem to want to take that for an answer, and holy shit, he’s overriding every one of Tommy’s limitations with his ridiculous fucking tongue.

Shouldn’t swim for an hour after eating, thinks Tommy vaguely, and he’s laughing as he comes, even though it hurts a little, too soon, sharp-edged.

He has to make his hands unclench, after, Adam tugging at his wrists because he’s fisting Adam’s hair, not gently, oops. Adam bites at his fingertips and lays his head on Tommy’s belly, stroking Tommy’s thigh absently.

Tommy can feel the drowsiness sliding over him, the post-coital passing out trying to drag him under. But Adam is still clearly a little restless, scratching his nails in circles on the soft skin of Tommy’s inner thigh, and he guesses that they’re going to have to talk about this or something. May as well get that out of the way.

“So I hope you’ve learned something from this experience,” he announces to the ceiling, and pats Adam’s head. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me. Clearly I am the wiser one here.”  
Adam’s head lifts up, and he blinks at Tommy. Even his hair, ruffled and kind of standing on end in all directions, looks indignant. “You’re going to be a dick about this, aren’t you.”

“Well, yeah,” says Tommy, and smiles down at him. “But I’ll be a dick who’s sucking your dick, so you won’t mind.”

“I won’t,” says Adam, flatly, and gets up on his hands and knees to crawl up the bed. “Is that so.”

Tommy nods. “You won’t have time to mind, we’ll be having so much sex.” He grins at the surprise Adam can’t quite hide, hooks an arm around Adam’s neck now he’s close enough. “I want you to fuck me on the bus,” he continues, “in that totally unfair little bed of yours, and we’ll have to be quiet because the walls are really thin. You might have to gag me. I’m a screamer.” Adam chokes on nothing, stares down at him.

“Tommy, fuck.”

“And in your dressing room,” says Tommy, blissfully. “Shit, all of your dressing rooms. Can we make that a rule? Before every show - fuck, no, after, all amped up and ready for it ‘cause you’ve be pawing all over me on stage, up on the counter, up against the mirror, yeah. And I won’t shower after, just go out and doing signing and shit like that, who cares if they guess, they’re already guessing.”

Adam makes some kind of noise then, gaze gone a little unfocused. Tommy doesn’t have Adam’s crazy magic sex powers, can’t get Adam off again so soon, but he can do this and watch Adam’s brain shut down anyway. He tugs Adam down so they’re cuddled together and keeps going. “And in the hotels. I fuckin’ love hotels, man, and you get the best rooms, is there a bath in here? Want you to fuck me in the bath tomorrow. With bubbles. And we’ll mess up the bed some more because we don’t have to clean it up, and we can be as loud as we like.”

He stops to yawn, so big his jaw cracks. “An’ when you go out to those stupid clubs with all the pretty boys linin’ up around the block. They’d suck your dick, any one of ’em, they’d pay for it, they’d fuckin’ beg for it. But you’ll drink and dance and then you’ll come home to me. And I’ll fuck you those times because I get jealous when you look at other boys.”

Adam inhales sharply, but doesn’t lift his head, just sort of sighs and kisses Tommy’s chest. “Got it all planned out, then?”

“Yep,” Tommy confirms sleepily. “Just follow my lead.”

Adam does look up at him then, a strange, scrunchy-nosed affectionate expression. He thinks about it for a minute, then shrugs and snuggles back down. “Seems to be working so far.”


End file.
